


Call me by my name

by myrish_lace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Babies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced miscarriage, Injury, Jon Snow is Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Kissing, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pregnancy, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-25 19:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrish_lace/pseuds/myrish_lace
Summary: Joffrey, who has not been exposed as a bastard, becomes king upon Robert's death and marries Sansa Stark. Sansa's beauty and kindness are well-known throughout the realm. Joffrey is cruel, however, and blames Sansa for the fact that she has not conceived. He beats her and insults her regularly.Jon Snow, who has been raised as Howland Reed's bastard, becomes Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He visits King's Landing several times, asking for men to serve at the Wall. Sansa meets with him, and comes to care for him.Sansa's friend Margaery suggests that Sansa should lie with Jon, and if she has a babe, keep the truth of the child's father a secret from Joffrey. Sansa finally grows desperate enough to ask. The answer ultimately leads to a bright future for both of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for Days 3, 4, and 5 of jonsa spring blossoms week - storms, secrets and reunions. I've had this one drafted for a while, and I'm excited to finally post it, especially because it has a happy ending! I'm myrish-lace-love on tumblr if you want to say hi!

Sansa gazed out her window at the clear blue sky. Her meal of lemon scones and fruit laid untouched on the table of her solar. She took a deep breath, relishing the quiet in the only place in the castle that was truly hers.

She had wed King Joffrey in a lavish ceremony four years ago. That morning, she’d been entranced by the crystals and incense in the sept. A hush had fallen over the crowd as she took her place beside her future husband. Joffrey was tall, with fine golden hair, and she’d felt like a queen from the songs as they said their vows.

Now, four years later, she hated looking in the mirror. The vicious black eye Joffrey's guards had dealt her would remind her all over again of what a lie that day had been.

Sansa glanced over at the stack of letters on her desk. She smiled. Her life was not entirely made up of her husband’s ugly words and blows from his guards. Sansa had quickly learned that, like his father before him, Joffrey had no interest in running the Seven Kingdoms. She’d thrown herself into the work of managing the kingdoms’ affairs. She took joy in helping the poor and the sick, and she had many friends scattered across the city and here at court. None of them, though, could keep her safe from the king’s wrath.

Her heart beat faster when she heard a knock at the door. The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch had returned to the city, and Sansa had hoped he’d seek an audience with her again. She’d met with him each year, taking him on a tour of the dungeons. She’d listened to his concerns about the castles at the Wall falling into disrepair, and she’d discreetly secured funds for them. Joffrey scoffed at men who took the black, but Sansa believed it was a noble calling. They protected the realm, and she needed to ensure her people were safe.

And if the Lord Commander was young, and strong, with soft grey eyes that made her blush at night, what of it? Nothing improper took place between them.

Her maid announced the Lord’s Commander’s visit, as Sansa had hoped. She walked over to the mirror to disguise her face before meeting him. The purple bruise was fading into yellow at the edges. As she reached for the powder - she was an expert, by now, at concealment  - something stayed her hand.

Let someone outside the castle see what Joffrey did to her. The Lord Commander would leave for the Wall tomorrow, and there was no one for him to tell.

She selected a plain blue gown. Joffrey did not like her to dress extravagantly when she met with men. Sansa nodded to the guards at the door, and they accompanied her to the dungeons. She instructed them to wait at the top of the steps, and carefully made her way down the stone staircase.

The Lord Commander bowed to her. His grey eyes were dark in the flickering torchlight. He stiffened when he saw her face. She knew his first name was Jon, though she’d never asked him directly.

She greeted him, and they discussed the men he might take to the Wall. She stood closer to him than she should, and wished her husband had the lean, hard body of a soldier.

What would it be like to have him in her bed? Moving above her? Would he kiss her? Treat her kindly? Take joy in trying to give her a babe?

“My Queen?”

Sansa hadn't spoken for several minutes, and Jon looked at her with an expression of soft concern.

His leather armor was scuffed and dusty from travel. There was a small tear on his left arm. Sansa has the impulse to mend it for him.

“Are you well? Is there…”

Jon raised his hand, as if to touch her face. Sansa waited with breathless anticipation. Jon quickly remembered himself and dropped his hand to his side.

Sansa's heart sank. “I'm sorry, my Lord if my appearance alarms you.”

“It does not alarm me, Your Grace.” He glanced down at the floor, then gazed at her. “My Queen, this is outside the boundaries of what I have any right to say but…it angers me. It angers me that you are treated in this manner, that you are not protected."

Sansa withdrew. If only he knew how many fists she avoided with her honeyed words and quick wits. “I am not defenseless, ser.”

“That is not what I meant, Your Grace. I see your intelligence and your kindness each time I visit. I have no doubt you navigate whatever this is in your life better than most. It's only…”

Sansa couldn't help herself. She stepped closer to this man who did not know her, and yet seemed to understand her.

This time when Jon raised his hand she did not flinch away. He took a deep breath. “May I, Your Grace?”

Sansa finally understood that he was asking for permission to touch her. No man had ever made such a request. Even courtiers kissed her hand without asking. It was freeing to tell him “yes,” when she knew she had the ability to refuse him.

He touched her cheek, well below the bruise.

Sansa closed her eyes. The touch was improper, scandalous, and she welcomed it. The guards stationed at the top of the stairs were the king's. Had Jon been someone important in Joffrey's mind - a Dornish prince perhaps - the guards would be watching her every move. She might earn a blow simply for smiling too many times at a handsome visitor.

But the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was nothing to Joffrey. So she leaned into his touch, into the soft caress of his calloused thumb.

When she opened her eyes, Jon's lips were parted. She saw anguish in his gaze, and wondered at it.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but why? Why does he hurt you like this? What reason could he possibly have?”

Sansa lingered a moment longer, before stepping back. Jon's touch had opened something in her chest, and she recognized it as trust. What harm would it do, to tell this man who would travel north tomorrow? Perhaps, she thought, this was why she'd left the bruise for him to see. 

She glanced up the stairs. The guards were laughing and slapping each other on the back. She was safe, for now. She twisted her fingers together. The Lord Commander made her feel young, and vulnerable, and safe at the same time.

“I cannot give the King a babe, my Lord. The best maesters have come to examine me, but found no solution.” Sansa looked up at up the stairs again, then lowered her voice.  “I have been told in secret by some of them that the issue is the King's constitution, not mine, but in the end the blame falls at my feet.”

She risked a glance at Jon. He was riveted, with a look of sympathy on his face. She resolved to tell him the story she'd never told anyone else outside the castle.

“I did conceive, once. Afterwards, I angered the King, and he had his soldiers beat me.’’

Jon inhaled sharply. His whole body tensed as if he was ready to spring.

Sansa steadied her voice. She'd cried enough tears over Joffrey’s abuse that day.  She refused to cry now. “They hit me in many places. One guard struck me in the stomach.  I lost the babe not long after.” She covered her stomach with her hands, as if she could shield herself from that blow long ago. “The King no longer beats me there. He understands a babe could be jeopardized.” Sansa smiled bitterly. “So his guards choose other places. Some are visible and some are not.”

Jon had gone pale. Sansa hurried on. She was not a helpless mouse. “I've made plans, my Lord. I have friends at court, and they've convinced the King that if I conceive again he must leave me alone. Once I give him a son he'll never visit my chambers again.” She held her chin high. “And I will thank the gods for it. These days he only takes his rights when the maesters tell him it is my time, or when he grows tired of his whores.”

Jon’s expression darkened. “He dishonors you in this way too?”

Sansa paused. It had been a long time since she'd considered Joffrey's whoring. “I suppose so. But it is a relief for me, a reprieve.’

Jon swallowed. “It is not my place, Your Grace, but … my father taught me a man should protect his wife, honor her counsel….” Jon flushed, and Sansa was reminded of how young he was. “A man should...treat his wife well in every aspect of their lives.”

He means when bedding me, Sansa thought, and blushed.

“Who was your father, my Lord?”

Jon bowed his head. “Howland Reed, Your Grace. I am his bastard son, Jon Snow.”

“And now Lord Commander.” Sansa risked a touch of her own. She brushed the tear in the fabric on his left arm.

“I wish I could mend it for you,” she said before she could stop herself.

Jon's brow furrowed. “Your Grace?”

“I would not….want you to be cold, when you return to the Wall.”

“I'm used to it by now.” He smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Why did you join the Watch?’

“It's a good place for a bastard boy from a small house.” Jon's gaze had a far-away look. “The Wall is a sight to behold in its own right. The ice is so many different shades of blue. At times, the blue of a robin's egg. Sometimes, the blue of the night sky. Sometimes, on fair days like this, the blue of your eyes-”

He stepped back. “My apologies, Your Grace. I did not mean to-”

 _He thinks of me_. For the first time since Joffrey had trapped her by snapping the lion’s clasp around her neck on her wedding day, Sansa's heart soared. A harmless fantasy, that a knight at the world's edge might think of her on a lovely day.

“It sounds beautiful,” she said.

“It is,” Jon whispered, and Sansa knew they were not just speaking of the Wall anymore.

“I would love to see it one day,” Sansa said, putting them on safer footing.

Jon smiled. “I would love to show it to you, Your Grace.”

***

Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden visited the capital a few weeks later, and took a shine to Sansa. Soon they were friends. Margaery was worldly, and when she heard the maesters had told Sansa the problem with conceiving an heir might lie with the king, her eyes gleamed.

“Who’s that man of the Night's Watch who's besotted with you?” Margaery reclined like a cat on the red velvet couch in her guest chambers. Sansa perched on the edge of the couch next to her. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, and transformed Margaery's hair to spun gold.

Sansa frowned. “He's not besotted.” In truth, she was worried. If Margaery had noticed, perhaps Joffrey would.

“Don't fret, my dear.” Margaery patted her arm. “You haven't shared the story with anyone else, have you?”

Sansa shook her head.

“Good. Your secret is safe with me.”

Sansa nodded warily. She enjoyed Margaery's company, but she'd come to learn she could not trust anyone in King's Landing.

Margaery took her nod for encouragement. “Well then, Jon Snow is a perfect choice. Given how you've described him, he even looks like Robert.  He'll be out of Joffrey's reach once he leaves for the Wall again. Get him to give you a dark-haired babe, and put these rumors to rest. You Tullys are famous for your fertility, so once may be enough. Free yourself from this abuse, my dear girl.”

Sansa’s resolve weakened  “His vows-”

Margaery poured them both wine, and took a delicate sip. “The men of the Night's Watch vow to father no children. The child will not be his, it will be yours and the King's. He'll be doing you a kindness.” Margaery winked at Sansa. “If half of what you've told me is true, he cares for you. It will be an easy undertaking, and an easier secret to keep. Secure some happiness for yourself, my dear.”

Sansa dismissed the idea as she left Margaery's room. She couldn't ask that of Jon, of her knight at the edge of the world.

But as the months went by, and Joffrey's cruelty increased, she entertained the idea in her weaker moments. Finally, when Jon was due to return, she looked at the scar Joffrey’s guards had left on her arm. She decided to ask Jon, even though the thought make her sick.

***

A storm struck King's Landing the night Jon arrived. Joffrey was well away, on a tour of sunny Lys. He'd keep the whorehouses busy, Sansa mused. More than anything, Sansa was grateful Joffrey was gone.

The foul weather gave her an excuse to meet Jon somewhere other than the dungeons. While the Lord Commander could be expected to stand ankle-deep in cold water, no one would ask it of the Queen. Sansa called for Jon to meet her in her solar. She asked for wine and cheese as well. Had she asked for a full meal, the visit might seem more suspicious.

Margaery had helped her arrange for Joffrey's laziest guards to watch over her on the day of Jon's arrival. Sansa took note of the desultory manner in which they waived the serving boy towards the door. They wouldn't pay close attention to Jon either.

She welcomed Jon into her room. The way he smiled when he first saw her, after so many long months, made her knees weak. She dismissed the serving boy and busied herself by pouring wine for both of them. They discussed the men in the dungeons, and who Jon might take with him. Once their business was finished, a cold weight settled in Sansa's stomach. She looked at her sleeve, which covered her scar completely. She forged ahead.

“I have a confession to make, my Lord.”

“Yes, my Queen?’

Without the Arbor Gold buzzing in her veins she never would have had the courage to meet Jon's eyes.

“I have another motive for asking you here tonight.”

Force him if you must, Margaery had urged her. Order him. He won't deny you.

But when Sansa looked into Jon's soft eyes, she could not do it.

“What is that, Your Grace?” A faint smile played at the corner of his lips. “Ask, and it shall be yours, if it is within my power to grant.”

Sansa twisted the stem of her wine glass. “I... never mind, my Lord. It was only a foolish thought.”

“My Queen.” Jon's voice was gentle, and her resolve weakened. “Please tell me, if you can?”

She took him in, his well-worn armor and his lean, strong form and those kind eyes that had comforted her in the past. When Jon looked at her she felt... _seen_ , in a way she did with no one else. Perhaps I can tell him part of the story, she thought.

“You know I cannot conceive.”

A faint line creased Jon's brow. “Yes, I remember, Your Grace.”

“There are rumors that Robert's sons may have been bastards.”

“They have reached the Wall,” Jon murmured.

“My friend, a highborn lady from another house, she told me to order you to … to lie with me so that I might conceive and spare myself the King’s beatings,” she said rapidly.  “You look like Robert, and if I give birth to a babe with black hair, it would put the rumors to rest.”

Jon went pale as the full implications of her story set in.

Sansa put down her wine glass. She willed her voice not to shake. “I cannot do it, my Lord. I cannot ask it of you. Your vows are sacred. My friend says it would only be f-fathering my children not yours-”

Sansa was rushing, as she often did when she was nervous. “But it's wrong, I won't ask it of you, I  _won't_ , even though I want you to, even if you fill my dreams at night. It's only that you're so kind, my Lord, so easy to talk to, I feel safe with you. Please, I beg you, forget what I have said tonight.”

She stared at her plate, despairing. She wanted to sink into the floor. This was the worst of all possible outcomes - Jon knew of her plan, she'd risked the guards overhearing it, and she'd done nothing to seduce him.

Jon reached out with his hand, slowly, offering it to her palm up on the table.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Sansa placed her hand in his, and stifled a gasp when he swept his thumb over her knuckles. She couldn't speak. After a moment, she took Jon's silence for refusal. She released his hand and walked over to the fire. Jon followed her and stood by her side. She stared into the flames. The logs crackled and popped.

She took a deep breath, and tried to salvage the evening. “Might I ask a lesser favor of you?”

“Yes, anything, my Queen,” Jon said quickly. “Anything, I swear to you I will do it.”

“I would like for you to call me by my name, and then kiss me before you leave.”

Jon stood perfectly still.

“It's only that - King Joffrey never says my name, not when we...not ever, and the other names he calls me are ones I refuse to repeat.” There was a hint of steel in her voice. “I would like to hear my name spoken by a kind man, and to be kissed by one. I will not ask anything else of you, my Lord.”

Perhaps my title can bring me this much, she thought bitterly. It is almost like ordering him to do it. It is a pale echo of what I truly want, but I must subsist on something, I must.

Then she wavered. She would not put the realm at risk. “Please - know you can refuse me, and no harm will come to you. You will still receive the best men King's Landing has to offer.”

Jon turned to her. “I would not think otherwise, my Queen.” His gaze was warm, and conflicted, and Sansa saw desire there too. She shivered, despite the fire's heat. She did not know what Jon would do next. It seemed as if he was waging a war inside his mind. Then he stepped closer, and raised his hand to her face, as he'd done nearly a year ago. She sighed as he cupped her cheek.

“Do you remember what I told you about the Wall, and the color of your eyes?” He asked gently.

She nodded.

“That is not the half of it. I think of you every day, even though I know I shouldn't. Your sweetness, your kindness, your strength.” He leaned in, so their foreheads almost touched. His gaze dropped to her lips.

“I want you to know that if I were free, if I could, I would take you away from here. I would care for you, cherish you, treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” He rested his hand on her waist. She trembled. Jon pressed a kiss to her temple, and Sansa could tell he was trembling too. His lips traced the shell of her ear, and she held tight to his shoulders.

“Sansa,” he whispered into her ear. She shuddered. “Sansa, your name is Sansa and I dream of you too, at the Wall, there are days I think of nothing but riding hard for King's Landing to rescue you.”

She buried her face in his shoulder and he held her tight. Jon's voice was low and soft to begin with, and he had a Northern lilt that reminded her of home, of everything she'd left behind.

When they broke apart Sansa was not surprised to see her tears staining Jon's tunic. But she had not expected the tears that covered Jon's cheeks. She brushed them away.

“Thank you, my Lord. May I - may I call you…”

“Yes, please,” he whispered.

“Thank you, Jon.”

Hearing his own name from her lips seemed to stir something in him. He pulled her closer and cupped her cheek again.

“I have a confession of my own to make, Your Gr-Sansa.” She smiled at hearing her name again, and he smiled back.

“I am afraid to grant your second request.”

Sansa blinked. Jon had already kissed her temple. She'd taken that for what it was - the furthest he could go given his vows and their respective stations. Yet he still meant to to kiss her again. Her heart pounded. 

“Why, Jon?”

His eyes softened, and he swayed towards her.  “Because….” He caressed her cheek with his thumb, and her eyes fluttered shut briefly. “Because I want to, very much. Because it will bring me closer to yielding, and giving you what you seek.”

Sansa froze. “You would? You would...lie with me, if you could?” She'd never spoken so brazenly to any man, but Jon had drawn the truth from her.

Jon swallowed. He leaned in and this time he pressed a kiss to her lips. She whimpered as he kissed her gently, then more deeply when she threw her arms around his neck.

Gods but she'd never felt anything like it, how his touch was light and gentle and yet she could tell he wanted to kiss her everywhere, all at once. He pulled her closer, and kissed her jawline. Sansa tipped her head back instinctively and Jon kissed his way down her neck. She whined, and felt his hardness against her leg.

He slid his hands up her sides as if he was unable to stop himself. He pulled her away from the fire and pressed her gently against the wall. Joffrey sometimes pinned her this way, and she hated it. But Jon seemed to need to steady himself more than he needed to hold her in place. He kissed her mouth again and groaned when she tentatively touched her tongue to his lips. He swept his tongue into her mouth and buried his hands in her hair and this, _this_ was what Margaery had meant when she'd said you could feel a lover's kiss all the way down to your toes.

She writhed against him, seeking friction without knowing why.  He thrusted his hips once in a movement that felt so natural Sansa almost begged him to do it again.

He broke away, panting, and rested his forehead on hers. Sansa was warm all over and her blood was singing in her veins. She whimpered at the loss of contact, then restrained herself. She fisted her hands in his shirt, giving them both space. She wanted to capture his lips again, but he looked so tortured that she couldn't bring herself to do it. 

“Sansa, _gods_ , I'm lost when I'm with you.”

His eyes were dark and his cheeks were flushed. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Sansa had expected Jon's kiss to undo her, but she hadn't known she'd see Jon so wrecked.

He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, each cheek in turn. “You asked me if I would lie with you, if I could,” he rasped.

“Would you, Jon?” She sounded plaintive and needy.

“Yes, I would,” he whispered, “gods help me but I would, I'd lie with you every night…” He traced his fingers over a faint bruise on her neck. “If you - if you give him a babe, he will stop this? He will stop hurting you, like he does in my nightmares, when I can't shield you from his blows?”

“Yes, if the babe is a son, an heir for the throne, he will.”

Jon collected himself. “In our vows, I am the shield that guards the realms of men.” He took a deep breath. “But all I want to do is to shield you. I did not fully know what it would mean when I joined the watch…” He tenderly tucked her hair behind her ear.  “And when I am in your arms, I find I cannot care.” Jon kissed the inside of her wrist. “The old gods guard the heart trees and the godswood. They protect the North. But the old gods cannot help you here.” Tears slid down his cheeks. “And if this is how I can keep you safe, then I will hate myself every day if I do not do it.”

Sansa kissed his tears away.

“Jon, you don't have to...your vows…”

Please, she thought selfishly, hating herself for it, please put me first in your heart.

Jon took her face in his hands. “Joffrey will honor the child as his own?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, “yes, and I will care for the child Jon, I'll be a good mother.” She felt as if her heart was about to burst.

“I know you will,” he said, soothing her. “I know, sweet girl.” He kissed her again, soft and deep, and she melted into him. He drew back. “Must it be here?”

She nodded. “Joffrey is away, and this is the only place I may entertain guests without suspicion.” Jon frowned.

“What is it, Jon?”

“Only that - you deserve a bed, soft furs, a chamber of your own…”

“I have all those things, Jon and they have brought me nothing but pain.” She pulled him closer. Jon was a good man. He would not want to take a woman up against a wall. But this was her only chance.  “You are here, and you are who I want, and please Jon, please do not let this stop you.”

Margaery would have stroked his length, or bitten his earlobe. She'd given Sansa a hundred ways to rob Jon of his reason. Sansa could do no more than hold her breath and hope.

“I'm told it can hurt, for women, if we do this quickly,” Jon murmured. “I do not want to hurt you, sweet girl, you've been hurt so many times already-”

“Jon.” Sansa would have to be strong for both of them. “Please, the pain is nothing.”

“It shouldn't be,” Jon said desperately.

She tried again. “You will keep me safe, when you're gone, by doing this.” She was tempted to remind him that the pain she experienced at Joffrey's hands was far worse than the sting she anticipated from the act. But saying so might drive him away.

Jon kissed her again. “Perhaps I could tell you what I would like to do, if we had time?”

She nodded. Jon leaned in and peppered her face with kisses. He carded his hands through her hair.

“I would build up the fire, Sansa, **”** he whispered as he lifted up her skirts. “I would make sure you were warm, that there was wine if you wanted it. I'd kiss you for hours first if you'd let me.”

“Hours?” Sansa was drifting in a haze of desire. An unfamiliar heat was building between her legs.

“Yes, sweet girl, hours, I'd undress you slowly and kiss every inch of your skin.”

Sansa helped Jon gather up her skirts. She expected him to undo his breeches. He slid his hand up her thigh instead. She gasped as he touched her center. There was a slickness there she'd never felt before.

Jon moaned and cupped the back of her head.  She twined her hands in his hair and kissed him, hard, as hard as she dared. She didn't know how to encourage him with words, but she needed to show him what he meant to her, how he moved her.

Jon slipped a finger under her small clothes. Sansa whined, and her hips stuttered against Jon's hand.

“Jon, that's-” She tipped her head back as Jon stroked her, then found a rhythm of her own and pushed against his hand.

“You're so beautiful, Sansa, I'd ask you if we could make love with the torches burning. I want to see you, all of you, I dream of your red hair fanned across my pillow.”

Sansa clutched at his shoulders. Tension coiled in her belly, low and tight.  “Jon, I don't - I don't know what this is-”

Jon slowed his movements. He cupped her cheek again, and tipped her head so that he was gazing into his eyes. The heat she saw there overwhelmed her, but there was kindness too, and she clung to that kindness.

“Trust me, Sansa, please,” he begged. “This…this ends in a way that will make you feel good. I only ever want to make you feel good, love, but I'll stop, right now, if you want me to.”

The word “love” reverberated in the room. But Jon looked so desperate, so gone that Sansa wasn't sure he knew he'd said it. She buried her head in his shoulder. “I trust you, Jon,” she whispered, though she was still frightened. This act had brought her only agony in the past.  He cares for me though, she thought, his sweet words…

“Please, keep talking, Jon, it helps me stay with you.”

Jon nuzzled behind her ear, and she rocked harder against his hand.

“Do you feel where I'm touching you now, sweet girl?’

She nodded frantically. She was digging her fingers into his back, hard enough that she worried she might hurt him. But Jon groaned, and picked up the pace. “There, right there, that's where I'd kiss you, Sansa-”  Jon's breath was hot against her neck.

She gasped as he curled a finger inside her. “Kiss me?” There, between her legs? “W-why, Jon?”

“You've no idea how sweet you'd taste to me, love-”

Jon's tongue, moving where his fingers were touching her - she felt sparks form at the point of Jon's blunt fingers.

“Jon, I'm-” Sansa was on the edge of a cliff, her stomach was tightening and she was close, so very close to something she couldn't name. But it felt so _good_ , Jon had been right, only she didn't know what happened next.

“That's it, sweet girl, gods, but I've wanted to do this since the first time I saw you-”

“This? Touching me - _oh_ \- touching me like this?” She was slipping into a sweet trance, as Jon urged her on.

“Just like this, Sansa. Just like this, I wanted to feel you come up to the edge for me-”

Sansa's breath came in short pants. She was stuttering against Jon's hand, grasping for something just out of reach-

Jon pressed another kiss to her temple, holding her steady as she ground down onto his hand. “There you are, love, so beautiful, let it go, let it go for me, I've got you, I promise, now and always-”

Sansa cried out at _now_ and _always_ as a wave of pure pleasure crashed through her. She clenched around Jon's fingers and her head dropped back against the wall. Jon was right there with her, just like he'd promised, working her through it, holding her close, kissing her neck as she came down from the clouds.

“I didn't know,” she said weakly, when she could speak again. “I didn't know it could be that way.”

“It should always be that way for you, beautiful girl.” Sansa saw a hint of melancholy in Jon's eyes. She would not have it. She did reach for him then. She stroked his length and kissed him fiercely.

“Please Jon, you've given me so much tonight, please, don't stop-”

She fumbled with his laces and he helped her. His cock sprung free. For the first time in her life, Sansa was not afraid of what came next.

Jon hesitated. “You're certain?”

Sansa smiled at him. “Yes, I'm certain.”  Something in her eyes relieved Jon, and he relaxed. “I still wish we had a bed for you,” he murmured, but he let her guide him to where she needed him. He bucked into her hand when she stroked him again.

“Just be with me Jon,” she said softly, “that's all I want.”

She lifted herself up on her toes, to encourage him. She didn't know what felt good for men, beyond the act itself.

Jon pushed into her slowly, giving her time to adjust. He groaned as she welcomed him. He dropped his forehead to hers. He'd been so sure, a moment ago, and now he seemed lost. Sansa shuddered as echoes of that delicious wave pulsed through her. She took one of his hands, and laced her fingers with his. Perhaps this is more difficult for him, she thought. This is the moment when he truly breaks his vows for me.

“Jon, you called me love, just now, did you mean it?”

Jon's gaze was scorching, molten. “Yes, I did, I meant every word of it.”

“I’m glad,” Sansa whispered. She rolled her hips experimentally and was rewarded when Jon gripped her waist tightly. “Because I love you too, Jon, I can't explain it, but I do. No one's ever made me feel as safe and cared for as you do.”

Jon shivered, and started to thrust in earnest.

“I dreamed about this too Jon,” she whispered, “of you moving inside me, loving me, giving me this gift-”

“Sansa, _gods-_ ”

Sansa pushed his damp hair away from his face. I could break him with a word, she thought, he's so vulnerable. But I won't. I'll show him how much this means to me instead. She kissed his neck. This part of the act was much more familiar to Sansa.  But Jon moving inside her didn't feel like an invasion. It felt like they were joined together, becoming something bigger than the both of them.

She could tell he was close when his hips started to stutter. She hadn't expected an answering heat in her body again. She'd wanted to concentrate on him, but a sweet ache formed between her legs and distracted her. She whined and met Jon stroke for stroke. No, she thought, no, this part needs to be about him-

Jon had started kissing her again. “I can feel you, sweet girl, fluttering around me. If I were your husband I'd never want to leave your bed.”

“Our bed, Jon,” she said, “our bed, we'd be together.”

Jon made a noise low in his throat. “I'd worship you, Sansa, every night, fall to my knees for you, treasure you, give you a babe-’

“Our babe,” she whispered, “yours and mine, Jon.”

His breath hitched. Ours, she thought hazily, it's what he needs to hear, and I'm so glad to give it to him.  She kissed him behind his ear as she whispered to him. “Please, Jon. Give me your seed, give me our babe tonight.”

He came, spilling his seed inside her in a hot rush, his hips snapping into her and her name a rough whisper on his tongue.

Jon helped her smooth her skirts afterwards. He kissed her temple again and touched his forehead to hers. They breathed together, and what she shared with Jon in that moment was sweeter and more beautiful than any night in her sham of a royal bed.

***

A week after Jon left, Joffrey was exposed as a bastard by Lord Baelish and Lord Varys. He was killed at court by his enemies. The Queen Mother, Cersei Lannister, fled with her remaining children when she could not stamp out the truth.

Lord Varys also revealed that Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, was the last Targaryen prince, and the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Jon rode for King's Landing at once when he received the news. He greeted Sansa solemnly in public, as befitted her status as a grieving widow. He caught her joyfully in private, when she jumped into his arms. They were married the very next day.

A long war followed, as well as a game of thrones. But nine months later, Sansa gave birth to twin baby boys with dark hair and grey eyes. And in the end, Robb and Eddard grew up as the cherished trueborn sons of Sansa Stark and Jon Targaryen, the beloved King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.


End file.
